The term “freakism” was probably coined by the man jumping off the building here in 1970, Bart Howe. It was mostly a name we used for each other, a nod to those parts of us not in the mainstream. It grew to be a genuine “ism”, and also: a mantra, a rebel yell and outright babble at times.
Three decades have passed since we spent any time together; the last being a midwinter hike to the summit of Camel’s Hump, and an overnight stay under a Wolf Moon, where we fed the fire – literal and metaphorical – all night long.
Fast forward: I play music in nursing homes, and after one performance I emailed this little anecdote to a friend of mine:
“As I was packing up, this old gal with a rolling walker comes by, smiles and says ‘… nostalgic..’ and walks on. Inscrutable Zen Master, throwing down a koan !!! Yikes !!!”
And so I say there is more to nostalgia than first meets the mind’s eye.
Two old friends that I originally met circa 1984, and as we live in three separate states, only see sporadically. I’m happy to say we didn’t talk politics until late in the evening.
Pretty amazing that our neighbor Victor has been playing in the Horseshoe League in Deep River for the past 52 years; he started in 1964!! This year he says he’s “doing ok”, averaging 24, down from a high of 33 in his younger days. (Rounds of 12, two tosses each round, 3 points for a ringer, 1 for landing within 6 inches, leaners included.)
“I can’t fully explain it but Vermont is so unique, ordinary, unspoiled, commonplace, interesting, beautiful, astonishing and ghastly that I can’t get it out of my system. I tell people it’s like your favorite jacket or pair of jeans and every favorite childhood memory and adult romantic interlude rolled into one, wrapped in a psychotic’s vision of bizarre weather.”
I am happy to welcome an old friend, the semi-mythic former Vermonter Mike Aiken to this site; he will be posting whenever the spirit moves him, perhaps even with his own photographs of New England.
His comment above is perhaps the finest description of Vermont I’ve ever come across, and one I thought had been lost forever (last seen on our refrigerator door some eight years ago, and only recently rediscovered – originally sent in an email).
He lived in a caboose near the Canadian border for a time, and sold me some magnificent Lodgepole Pine poles for my own tipi experience in my formative years.
Michael is an artist, poet and brother in faith who happened to need an author photo for a poem coming out shortly in Mason’s Road, an online literary journal, found here. This image from our visit a couple of months ago fit the bill.
The term “freakism” was probably coined by the man jumping off the building here in 1970, Bart Howe. It was mostly a name we used for each other, a nod to those parts of us not in the mainstream. It grew to be a genuine “ism”, and also: a mantra, a rebel yell and outright babble at times.
